


Arabesque

by SleepyCreep



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: A lil bit fluffy, Ballet AU, Ballet Dancer Gerard, Blow Jobs, Brief references to homophobia, Cute, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, More like unfriendly strangers to friends to lovers, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, it's actually very fluffy now I think about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyCreep/pseuds/SleepyCreep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank didn't ask to be dragged along that day; he'd much rather have stayed wallowing in blankets and self pity in his room. He didn't realise he would become entranced by a raven-haired boy genius in a leotard- but that's fate for you.</p>
<p>Gerard didn't ask for Frank to turn up that day; a punk kid with piercings and an attitude problem. He thinks he knows the type, having been sneered at his whole childhood for being 'the boy who dances.' He didn't realise that Frank would be a lonely outcast a lot like himself, and wholly undeserving of Gerard's aloof treatment. But that, I suppose, is fate for you.</p>
<p>A ballet AU about overcoming barriers of every kind, in leaps and bounds, and pliés.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tombé (The Act of Falling)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is quite exciting. It's my first time writing for this fandom, I've tried my hardest and I hope my offering is acceptable <3  
> Read, enjoy, and let me know what you think! X

“Frank! I said today, please, not in twenty years!” Linda Iero’s impatient call drifted threateningly up the stairs. “Down here, where I can see you… now.”  
“Nope.” Came his blunt response. “M’ not going.” He had heard her the first time, but had not considered the occasion worthy of a response. He glared briefly at the ceiling, considering setting his heaviest music playing from his iPod. Or even snatching up his electric guitar in the corner of the bedroom and shredding away with determination and gusto. On occasions in the past, it had worked, and she’d just given up and let him be. Somehow he doubted the effectiveness of either tactic in this situation.  
He heard his mother exhale in a world-weary manner. “Frank, you’ve barely left your room for five days. Lord knows it smells like a yeti died up there; it’d probably be good for you to get some air. And it’s very generous of Mrs Carter to invite us to see little Jessica’s dance class, I won’t have you seeming rude.”  
Frank looked a little further beyond his laptop and gave his room a once over. He couldn’t see much wrong with it; it could maybe do with a tidy-up, though he couldn’t see where a dead yeti might be concealed, which he thought rather a shame because that would’ve been rad. He gave a sniff, and admittedly, it was a little ripe in here, but who honestly cared? He certainly didn’t, and chilling in his blanket cave, with or without a decomposing yeti carcass, was definitely preferable to whatever his mom was trying futilely to entice him with. However, after Mrs Iero began rapping harshly on the bannister from somewhere near the front door, he conceded on the grounds that it simply wasn’t worth arguing it out, not with her in such an insistent mood, and proceeded to melodramatically tumble out of bed, tugging on a black and grey hoodie and a pair of punished converse before reaching the door. He paused for a moment in front of the mirror, not entirely sure why he was bothering to do so, because he didn’t much care what he looked like. He was on his way to spend an hour watching a dance class full of seven-year-olds after all; something that he wouldn’t ever admit to his friends, even if he had any.

The car journey was a predominantly silent ordeal, as Frank tried to communicate his contempt non-verbally. Only the sound of air-conditioning filled the quiet, and possibly the thrum of Frank’s disgruntled mind waves, if you had just so happened to have super-hearing. Frank didn’t have a bad relationship with his mother per se, far from it in fact; she had the capacity to be extraordinarily patient sometimes, and quite honestly, in order to be Frank’s mother, one would have had to. She was usually reasonable where his freedoms were concerned, rarely grounding him. There was also the unspoken truce that she wouldn’t physically enter his room, if the door was closed, and this was a fact that Frank had had reason to be grateful for on more than one occasion. Most of all, she was incredibly accepting of Frank’s individuality; and everything he confessed to her he did so in total confidence that she would be completely cool with it. Despite this, he did strongly wish she could respect his human right to be a lethargic and moody hermit when he wanted to be, i.e., all the time. What on earth was she thinking, forcing him to sit through an hour of fiddly classical music and dancing? (With tiny kids no less.)

Frank was further disheartened by the whole affair, when they pulled up outside the ballet hall, a squat concrete building with a wooden plaque over the door, and he could already see suburban moms leading their whining ‘darlings’ in tutus and ribbons and spangled hair scrunchies to the entrance, from their big-ass, shiny family cars. He was anticipating the longest hour of his life, and that in itself was saying something, because he’d suffered his way through many a detention in years past. While not a juvenile delinquent, he was hardly able to call himself an honour student or even a role-model. It was with a heavy heart that Frank Iero slammed the door of the car and followed his mother up the steps to the door.

They’d not made it a dozen steps into the building that smelt faintly musty from the polished wooden floors, when they were over-enthusiastically greeted. Mrs Carter, a middle aged woman dressed and made up like a blonde twenty-something, who Frank now remembered was a previous neighbour of theirs and not one that he missed, gushed embarrassingly over him the moment she saw him. (How he’d GROWN? Seriously? He was the shortest person his age that he knew- the woman’s diet pills were clearly impairing her spatial judgement.) He waited anxiously for the nearest opportunity to palm her off onto his mother, where he left them talking, and escaped into the main hall, awkwardly took a seat, and waited as the little pink frilly brats filed in.

Somewhere around that particular moment was when Frank spotted the other boy. He was surprised, primarily because he’d not really been expecting to see anyone else in amongst the cloud of diminutive dancers. He was thereafter shaken out of whatever train of thought he had been following, when he paused a moment to actually take in the boy’s appearance. Not that he particularly minded, because ooookay, the guy was pretty hot.

Very hot.

Pretty, and very hot.

He looked a little bit older than Frank himself, but not by much. He had a pale, milky complexion, shocking in the way that it contrasted with the onyx black hair that twisted round and framed his face, a lot like his own, he thought, but a bit longer- it reached somewhere between his ears and shoulders. His face itself was pixie-like in its proportions, with a cute, slightly upturned nose, a pert mouth with a pronounced cupid’s bow, and long-lashed almond eyes, (was that eyeliner he was wearing? Oh man. This whole situation was beginning to get unfair.) He also wore a form-fitting black top, and leggings, as if poor Frank needed another excuse to gawp at the dude because. What. An. Ass.

He was brought guiltily back into real time with a start, by the arrival of the ballet teacher; a portly, aging woman who certainly looked like she would struggle to dance now, and that was assuming that she had ever been able to. She’d have been difficult to lose in a crowd, somewhat unfortunately, dressed as she was in a lilac cardigan the colour of unicorn puke, and a searing lemon yellow skirt that almost reached her brown-stockinged ankles. She didn’t appear to do a whole lot over the course of the session, she merely sat on a stool in front of the group and gave instructions in the sugary, patronising way that old ladies often speak to their juniors. Frank felt the urge to yawn not five minutes after she began talking, something only achieved previously by professors whose lessons he would rather remove and feed his limbs to lions than attend.

Before today, though, Frank would not have had a clue what kind of things go on in ballet classes. It was not that he considered himself to be above such things; he’d just never had a reason to know, his own dancing skills leaving much to be desired. He watched as the instructor had the kids skip in wide circles around the room, practice sitting and pointing their toes, stretch to ‘pick fruit’ and crouch to ‘feed birds.’ If the children hadn’t been so irritating, it would have been rather cute. But of course they were all very irritating and Frank didn’t find it cute whatsoever. Not at all.

Watching the strange, black-haired boy help out with all the younger dancers alleviated most, (though not quite all), of the boredom for the hour. Frank could tell, despite the exercises not being very complex on account of the girls all being very young, that the boy was an extremely accomplished dancer. Something in the way that he carried himself was very poised and professional. It was elegant, and he didn’t falter once, unlike the bumbling bundles of pink tulle ruffles that twirled around at his waist-level. He seemed to be quite the serious type though; Frank didn’t think he saw the guy smile once, and he didn’t even talk much, for that matter. Well, it was true that if he had as little inclination to be there, or as little choice in the matter as Frank did, he wasn’t sure he could blame him.

As the recital closed, and the oddly dressed ballet teacher and young ballerinas began to disperse, Frank sidled discreetly up to his mother and asked nonchalantly who the boy in the leotard was.  
“You mean Gerard?” Mrs Iero asked, casting an eye in the same direction and letting out a small sigh. “Ballet prodigy. He’s here every week to help the girls out with their posture and rhythm, and their technique and so on.” She added in a lowered tone of voice. “He’s a little full of himself, if you ask me. A bit of a diva, but he’s a professional dancer, so there you go.” And with that, she and Mrs Carter, who was standing a few yards away and appeared to also be visually appraising Gerard, were summoned by a chubby blonde tot with ringlets complaining that the ribbons on her shoes wouldn’t come undone. Frank glanced around to find himself suddenly alone in the spacious room with Gerard-the-ballet-genius, who was crouched, packing things away. The other boy looked up sharply after a few moments, and stared across the hall at him with a decidedly tight and unfriendly expression, before he slowly rose to his feet and sauntered over.

***

Gerard was more than a little put off by the other boy, when he first noticed him perched on a folding chair in the corner of the hall. He didn’t seem to outwardly react to anything during the entire hour- he just sat still, slumped with his chin on his hands, his dark fringe flopped over his face in such a way that you couldn’t see where his gaze rested. It seriously put Gerard’s back up. He’d never noticed him coming here in any of the previous weeks, and he wasn’t at all sure what the guy was doing here now. By the looks of him, he meant trouble, and there was no doubt he was going to pick on Gerard at the nearest given moment. A baggy clothed teenaged punk, with multiple piercings and the attitude problem from hell- unfortunately for Gerard, he knew the type very well. Boys just like him had all tried, throughout his whole elementary, middle and high school careers, to make his life a misery. The girls too, sometimes. They’d succeeded at first, which absolutely sucked; but it wasn’t like it was in any way surprising. As the only little boy who did ballet dance, surrounded by narrow-minded and cruel classmates, he had practically been a walking target.

Over the years, he honestly had heard everything there was to hear; from delights such as ‘fairy,’ ‘twink,’ and ‘princess,’ (they sometimes called him ‘queen,’ too, depending on how respectful they felt), to charming and highly original ones like ‘faggot,’ ‘homo,’ ‘butt-pirate,’ and even ‘tranny.’ All of it incensed Gerard. Of course he had learned sooner rather than later just to take it all in his stride, to build an emotional wall and let these comments just sweep over him, but he couldn’t help being really angry at their ignorance nonetheless. It wasn’t that he was bitter, or if he was, he would never have owned up to being so; it was just that he was so tired and fed up with their nonsense. He didn’t see how dancing inherently labelled him as a ‘queer,’ or whatever their particular choice of politically incorrect insult was. It was true that Gerard did happen to be gay, as he had realised quite early on, but that was utterly beside the point. It was his attraction to men that made him gay, not his hobby of performing ballet. He’d never been able to explain this fundamental fact to anybody- no one listened to him long enough for him to argue back. The boys would continue to egg each other on as they jeered and punched him up and stole his satchel of books, stuck in their bigoted ways and afraid of anything that went against the stereotypes they were fed. The girls would simply shut him out, locked in their tight friendship circles, and they would stare at him judgementally from a distance where Gerard couldn’t hear the snide comments that passed behind their hands. Gerard would just drift helplessly around, too awkward a mixture of what was considered ‘boyish’ and ‘girly’ to be accepted as either, and that was the way it had always been. So when this kid turned up at the rehearsal, Gerard knew exactly what to expect, that he was just like how the rest of them had been, jocks and punks alike; scornful, and so obsessed by their own masculinity that they’re unable even to appreciate that ballet is not ‘some dancing shit for wimps and girls,’ but a dedicated, nuanced art, and something for which Gerard had spent his life so far toiling.

Gerard stood up from where he had been crouched, placed the photocopied sheet music on top of the piano and made his way over to moody punk kid, keeping his cool.  
“What are you doing here?” He asked in a clipped, level manner. He was genuinely interested to know; nobody had ever taken the time to come along to an actual ballet class just to take the piss out of him before. He was wondering if he should be honoured in a way, that somebody considered him worth the effort. The boy’s hazel, kohl-lined eyes widened a bit, and he actually looked kinda uncomfortable about the confrontation. Gerard couldn’t work out why. Sure, the kid was really short, but not that much more than himself, and his facial features indicated that he was only a bit younger- a couple of years, max.  
“U-um. I, uh, I’m here ‘cause my mom and her friend just decided to drag me along, I guess.” The boy said, with a weak attempt at a smile, as he didn’t appear to know what to say. Gerard himself was a bit thrown because he would have expected the taunting to have begun by now. His tormentors in the past had seemed to be never-ending fountains of homophobic shit. In fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d say that the tatty-clothed, pierced urchin in front of him was actually a little intimidated. He didn’t realise he’d come on that strong.  
“Okay then.” Gerard replied curtly, not fully understanding what was going on, and unable to think up something better to say.  
“Uh… I’m Frank!” Punk kid suddenly blurted. “Frank Iero. Uh. Hi.”  
Gerard started, then replied, “Right. I’m Gerard. Gerard Way.” It was followed by a long, tense pause. He hadn’t quite given an apology for being rather brusque, but he also wasn’t sure if one was necessary yet, because who the hell was this guy?

Frank nodded, tousled hair bouncing, and then he stood and floundered; decidedly not picking a fight, and Gerard felt a little bad for him, because not only did he have him down all wrong, but the boy looked pretty embarrassed. His social skills were clearly about as well-developed as Gerard’s own; that is to say, not at all. It was for that reason in fact, that Gerard was unable to do much to help the situation, and he was becoming aware of how his introduction could potentially be perceived as quite rude. Frank opened his mouth as if to have another attempt at interaction, and who knows where that riveting conversation might have had the potential to go, but it was at that moment that Frank’s mom (that was his name, right?) started hollering for him from the exit, and Frank just sort of excused himself and shuffled away with a half-hearted, uncertain wave, leaving Gerard stood alone in the hall, holding a metronome to his chest and wondering, among other things, whether his prejudice had gotten the better of him for once.


	2. Faille (To Give Way)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Hope it hasn't been too long since the last chapter. I've been having to do a lot of work, it's pretty frightening, but I was trucking through this furiously at every given opportunity, I promise. I have sacrificed so much sleep to compensate, no lie, and I really hope it's been worth it <3 so here's the second installment. Enjoy, my lovelies

Frank could see the surprise register on his mom’s face when he practically offered to return a second week in a row. The cogs were undoubtedly turning, practically visible as she wondered what could possibly have possessed her apathetic teenage son to willingly leave his bedroom, let alone the house. Especially after his performance the last time she asked him to come. None of this was said aloud though, and she soon agreed to take him along, and that week Frank clambered into the passenger side of the car without argument. That said, when she cheerfully reminded him that Mrs Carter would be thrilled to see him again, and ‘maybe he could even be a sort of big brother figure to Jessica seeing as they didn’t live that far away’, he turned up the radio, keen to halt that one in its tracks. It wasn’t like absolutely everything had changed.

Truth be told, Frank was slightly doubtful about going back again. Last week hadn’t exactly gone swimmingly; he’d been forced to talk to the insufferably insincere Mrs Carter, been bored stiff by a smarmy octogenarian dressed like a nasty-ass fairy, had to endure an hour of twittering seven year-old girls and to top it off he’d made a complete chump of himself in front of Gerard, the really hot dancer, who incidentally was the only person close to his age who’d voluntarily talked to him for a while, even if it was in a less than amiable manner. So maybe it wasn’t the best move returning as soon as the opportunity presented itself, but Frank had to admit that he really did have nothing better to do. Apart from homework. But, as every expert in procrastination knows, all physically harmless activities trump homework, and even some of the harmful ones, depending on whether the homework in question is math or not. He did at least have his phone with him this week, fully charged, in case tedium should strike. He had also briefly considered what he might say this time if he found himself alone, talking to Gerard. That was an IF; Frank wasn’t stalking the guy.

As they rolled up in the parking lot and Frank peered through the windshield up at the building, this was all beginning to seem less and less like a bright idea. What if Gerard had gotten ill or something and he never even came? Then he would just be sat awkwardly on his phone the whole time. He shrugged, remembering that Gerard wasn’t the ONLY reason he was back here today, even if he did just so happen to be a major factor. Besides, as he reminded himself, their acquaintance hadn’t got off to the best start seven days previously; a direct result of his own social ineptitude. He wanted to slap himself in the face. What a dumbass. Well, on the bright side, things could hardly get worse if he went back a second time, could they? With that thought, Frank clambered out of the passenger door, thumped it shut behind him, and made his way up to the entrance.

The gods had decided to be merciful that day, and he was able to slip down the corridor and through the doors into the main hall without being pestered by Mrs Carter and/or Jessica; though looking back through the slim, rectangular windows, he could see that his mother had had no such luck, and was already thoroughly engaged in a very animated conversation about something or other. A small smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth as he turned away and shuffled across the room to claim a chair. He was the first person here, Frank noted with a great deal of surprise as he sat down. He’d been called many things in his life, by many people, but the word ‘punctual’ had never featured, nor did he ever expect it to, and for good reason. Frank of all people could probably find a way to be late to his own funeral. He began to gaze about him absently, at the posters and certificates stuck up in clusters around the hall, at the cheap plastic clock hung over the fire exit door that emitted a loud ticking noise in the empty room, and at the broad, black piano that stood in the corner like a silent spectator. He began to tease strands of his wayward hair between his fingertips. He’d made the effort to put a little product in it that morning, just so he looked a little less like a hobo. It definitely had absolutely zip to do with his awareness of the possibility of seeing Gerard again. Frank replayed that in his head and he wanted to groan aloud at the ceiling. Whether he denied it or not was irrelevant, because even in his head he could sense that he was going full-on middle school crush on this motherfucker, and it was honestly tragic. Speaking of Gerard, though, Frank realised he had seen no indication thus far that the other boy would even be present this week, and he crumpled just a little in his seat.

He’d had only a short while to contemplate that fact, when the wooden doors swung open with a creak, and in strode the wunderkind himself, cheeping infants in tow, and bringing up the rear was the eccentric ballet instructor who was a symphony of colour today in frumpy turquoise and coral knitwear.

Frank was bowled over for a second time at just how attractive Gerard was, it was almost like his memory hadn’t quite done the guy justice. He still wasn’t smiling at all, but, recalling their brief non-conversation from the week before, he wondered if perhaps he was just like that. Some people were.

The mothers of all the girls suddenly streamed in then, from the corridor and changing rooms and took their seats at the side of the hall, conversations halted as preparations were made for the lesson to begin. Frank adjusted himself on the flimsy plastic chair, and watched Gerard shyly from under his fringe.

Although the phone stayed in his palm throughout the lesson, Frank barely looked at it. As a means to make people believe he wasn’t an ogling creep, it was quite helpful to have on hand to just glance at and fiddle around with aimlessly, but as soon as he believed no one else to be watching, then he would simply resume observing the lesson. The teacher he would avoid looking at as far as humanly possible, due to the highly offensive fashion statement, and though the children were quite sweet as they stood in third position waving floaty silk scarves to and fro, Frank was having a seriously hard time tearing his eyes away from Gerard. Like he had done the time before, Gerard demonstrated all the actions the girls were supposed to do, and there was something so captivating in his fluid, poetic movements, though they were only very basic, that he was distraction enough for the whole hour. Man, Frank was such a loser, but holy hell if Gerard wasn’t something else entirely. At least his mom hadn’t yet spotted him giving the other boy googly eyes or else he’d have to withstand the teasing for the whole journey home, and not on his life was Frank subjecting himself to that. It was cringe-worthy enough that he felt like some sort of tweenager with a ‘secret crush,’ being treated like one would make it five hundred times worse.

The hour seemed to go quite a lot faster that week, Frank thought to himself as the lesson drew to a finish, and the room’s occupants began to filter out in ones and twos. He slid his phone back into the pocket of his jeans; the pocket which didn’t have a whopping hole in the bottom of it anyway. That had cost him a few quarters over the years, he was pretty sure. He watched as Jessica Carter stubbornly dragged her mother, tottering in a pair of wedges behind her, by the hand to the changing rooms, and at the same time he became aware that his own mom had just fished her buzzing mobile phone from the depths of her handbag and was vacating the building in order to answer it. That meant that if he didn’t move his ass, he was going to be left in here for the second week running, with Gerard. That certainly came across as pretty dodgy, and it suddenly dawned on him that he was in no way prepared for such an encounter. All the hypothetical conversation starters he’d come up with instantly evaporated on the spot. Anybody with an ounce of common sense, anybody who learned from past failures, (he definitely wasn’t counting last week as a success,) would have left right then. But Frank, or more accurately, Frank’s feet, had other ideas entirely- and for whatever stupid reason his subconscious had come up with, he stayed put. Nice one, Iero, he thought. This is just asking for trouble.

Perhaps Frank’s internal turmoil had been too loud, because Gerard seemed to realise in that moment that he wasn’t the only person in the room. His shoulders visibly stiffened, and he turned round to face Frank. The suspicious glare had returned, and Frank’s final thought before the inevitable hostility was that that was it; that was the last time he was ever going to take his own advice.

***

He was back. It had taken Gerard just a matter of minutes to notice, and when he did, he was not happy. Surprised, and not happy. Punk kid, Frank or whatever, was back in that seat, at the edge of the hall, slouched over on his phone, and there he had stayed for the duration of the lesson. At least he’d appeared to be on his phone, but with all the damn scruffy hair in the way, it was hard to tell. And it had made Gerard uncomfortable, because he could have sworn they’d made eye-contact at least twice, but he couldn’t be sure. Besides that, there were more pressing things to be considered here, because seriously, what kind of person allows themselves to get ‘dragged along’ two frigging weeks in a row anyhow? Either his mom was absolutely adamant that he came, which was unlikely; or he had come of his own accord. If the latter was true, then Gerard could only assume that Frank had come with an intention to mock him. Maybe he’d even been using his phone to take photos or videos of Gerard. Well, that wouldn’t surprise him, what with the exasperatingly infantile humour that most high school boys had in common. The instant Gerard had spotted him there, in his baggy jeans and band merch and eyeliner, his barriers had shot straight back up, and he’d found himself in a state of paranoia, questioning the guy’s motives for practically the whole hour. Granted, he had seemed pretty harmless last week, but that’s not to say that he wouldn’t maliciously turn on Gerard, and by the looks of things, he had done just that. Better to get this over and done with then. When the last person had left through the heavy swinging doors, Gerard squared himself and turned around.

“Why did you bother coming back?” He asked in the most accusatory tone he could muster. From years of painful experience, he had found that the best approach with this kind of guy was to let them know from the get-go that they weren’t scary, and that it wasn’t funny. He coughed slightly and continued. He wasn’t going to hold back here, it was all going to flow out. “Don’t you, I dunno, have better things to do, than take the piss outta me by coming here and hanging around? Come out already and just say whatever you’re gonna say about me. I’ve heard it all before, I seriously don’t give a crap, so long as you just leave afterwards. I know that I personally have more important things to focus on than your scrawny punk ass sitting in this class, thinking you’re tough and thinking I’m a fucking sissy. So go find someone else to pester, or better still, get a life. I mean, don’t you have friends or something? Jeez.”

The other boy appeared to have frozen, somewhere in the middle of Gerard’s rant, and his expression was now quite sad and otherwise unreadable.  
“Uh. No, I… I guess I don’t.” Frank answered in a small voice. He had a hangdog expression that suddenly sent a pang of remorse through Gerard’s body, and he started to suspect that he may have gone way too far. “It’s quite a long story, and uh, I won’t annoy you with the details, but since the people at my school found out that, ah, I’m gay, they take the piss outta me and call me a sissy too. Sometimes worse.” He huffed a sad laugh and kicked at the floor with his boot, eyes cast downwards. “I’m sorry for ticking you off, man. I just didn’t really have anything much on, and last week wasn’t that bad, so…” He shrugged with his hands in his pockets, and peered up apologetically with big eyes.

Well, shit. Gerard felt like he’d been punched, but at the same time he really wished someone would just give him a good solid wallop to the face. He honestly felt like he deserved it. That thing, the thing that he detested most about others belonging to his generation; making assumptions based on outward appearances alone, he had just done exactly that, got himself in trouble, and now he felt like a prize asshole for it. And the thing is, he knew exactly how Frank felt. School had been tough for him, really tough for so many reasons, and he’d been so glad to escape it not that long ago. And he had just added to the rejection that Frank probably felt from interacting with literally everyone else. Someone ought to award Gerard a trophy for being the most awkward human being currently gracing the Earth. He reckoned it would be a while before someone took the title from him. He stood there, a stunned silence that was thick with guilt hanging between himself and the younger boy as he tried to scrape together a sentence, something to appease the situation in any way.

Frank ducked his head, and he made like he was going to leave, but Gerard couldn’t just let him go thinking he was the rudest and most presumptuous bastard of all time- he had to apologise somehow. He caught Frank by the shoulder before he could walk away and cleared his throat.  
“Hey, hey, wait up. Dude, I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was like that. I… I got a bit carried away there, and I was totally wrong. I do get it if you wanna leave now, and I’m just saying that was really out of order of me, and um, if you’re cool with it we can just scratch that.” He stared almost pleadingly.

Frank stopped, and he looked significantly relieved by that, and Gerard in turn found it an immense comfort.  
“Really?” Frank asked with a hopeful inflection.  
“Yeah, really. I’m so sorry about that.”  
“No, it’s okay.” Frank assured him understandingly. “I get it, I really do. People can be proper dicks sometimes. You thought I was some self-righteous straight guy who had it in for you, and you were just standing up for yourself. No big deal. I’m telling you though, if I had been a bully, you’d have well and truly stuck it to me.” He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly.  
“No kidding.” Gerard smiled faintly in return.  
Frank fidgeted with his hair and faltered a little. “You… um. You’re a, a really good dancer you know.” He shuffled his feet. “And also, hope you know I wouldn’t ever judge somebody for doing something they liked doing. I mean, I’d kill to be as talented at anything, as you are at dancing.” Then he added, “Well, I sorta play guitar, but no way is it on the same level.”  
Gerard was completely taken aback. He’d been complemented on his dancing before. Jesus, he’d been dancing for as long as he could stand unassisted, so it was hardly shocking, but he rarely heard heartfelt praise from someone who wasn’t a pretentious ballet coach, who in the same breath as complimenting him on his delicate footwork, could shout at him for arching his spine too much. Something about this was very touching. Maybe it had something to do with how adorably shy Frank was. Frank himself, one had to admit, was pretty freaking adorable.  
“Thanks.” Gerard replied plainly, but sincerely. He barely knew the guy, but they seemed to have had quite similar experiences so far in life- that is to say, shitty, on more than one occasion. However, he was keen for this potential friendship to not get forgotten about; not when potential friends were so hard to come by.  
“You know, you don’t have to come here to see me.” He mumbled, somewhat nervously.  
“Hm?” Frank looked a tad bemused. Gerard elaborated.  
“You don’t have to come here. As in, this particular place. I mean, I’m only helping out with the kids here- I do go to my own classes on Mondays and Thursdays, over at the performing arts centre. You… you could come along and watch that instead, like, just chill during the lesson, if you want. That would be okay.”

Frank’s demeanour was reminiscent of that of a puppy. A pierced, baggy-clothed puppy. The boy genuinely looked pretty thrilled to have the opportunity to make a friend, and Gerard would be lying if he said he wasn’t too. Frank agreed enthusiastically to come along to Gerard’s training sessions with his ballet group, and that week, when Mrs Iero popped her head around one of the doors to gently remind her son that she had been waiting outside, and that if they could get home before she was of retiring age she would be grateful, he and Gerard parted with a grin.


	3. Effacé (Shadowed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! Goodness me, I'm so sorry about the time it's taken to update this. It's a fairly long chapter and I've been pretty busy over the past few days, but it's finally here and I think you're going to like it. I really hope so <3  
> Hopefully it won't be too long before I next upload a chapter, but let me assure you regardless that I have no intention whatsoever of leaving this fic unfinished, and I want to thank you for reading my story :)  
> As always, let me know what you think of it, and enjoy.

“Madison! Would you lift your chin up, please?! Emily, keep your legs much straighter, how many times am I going to have to tell you? And Peyton, do not fall behind the others!” The formidable Madame Charbonneau was stood ominously at the front of the group, ceaselessly barking out a stream of orders to all the dancers in a thick French accent. Frank had certainly been nervous when he’d made his way into the building at the time on a Monday evening that Gerard had specified, and begun to search for the ballet practice room. As it would now appear, he had a valid reason to be; he reckoned Madame Charbonneau could strike fear into the hearts of most mortals. She was a very severe looking woman in her forties, with long, willowy limbs clad in a black velvet leotard and pale tights. Brown hair was coiled tightly and piled on top of her head, and her face that was just beginning to show signs of age, was set rigidly in a very serious expression- it was quickly becoming apparent to Frank that sitting in on Gerard’s ballet lessons was going to be a much more intense experience than watching the kids’ classes over the past two weeks had been. She didn’t seem to mind Frank’s being here though, which was a relief. He’d practically tiptoed into the room at five thirty. Gerard, for his part, had been near the centre of the room already, stretching and warming up. Frank’s heart went a little jittery when he spotted him, and the image of Gerard’s smile from last week flashed against the inside of his head.

Looking around, he had seen that the room itself was big; not unbelievably wide or long, but the ceiling was very high, and the space had an illusion of depth because all the walls were lined with mirrors. Stood against one side just inside the door, Frank found that if he turned his head far enough to either side, he could see his own scruffy reflection, with a dark mop of hair, from the corner of his eye. Rather curiously, he’d felt a great deal more self-conscious about his image since meeting Gerard; not even because he gave off a vibe of being particularly well-groomed- in a way he felt that they were quite similar in that respect- but just because his appeal was so effortless. He probably had absolutely no idea quite how alluring he was, or what a stupidly juvenile crush Frank was developing towards him. Gerard had pirouetted then, and stopped mid-twirl when he happened to catch sight of Frank, and you’d think he’d expected him to forget to come, or worse, to change his mind, because he brightened up immediately and came right over to say hi. He almost skipped, leaving behind a gaggle of about fifteen other girls as they prepared themselves for the lesson.  
“Hey.” He had said amiably as he approached. He didn’t seem quite as uncomfortable as he had last week, which made a pleasant change. When he went in for a hug, Frank went along with it, trying very hard as he did so to not to be acutely aware of how tight Gerard’s clothing was against his torso, failing on all fronts and very nearly forgetting to reply. “Hi…” He answered lamely, and grinned as something of an afterthought. “Looks like I managed to find the right room eventually.”  
Gerard’s eyes widened a little, and he huffed with laughter. “Oh shit, yeah, I forgot to tell you the room number didn’t I? That wasn’t smart of me at all. Duh. Well, congratulations must be in order, for finding us all on your own.” He ran a hand through his black locks (with slender, pale fingers, with nails that were painted, Frank totally didn’t notice and find rather hot.) Then he looked up and continued, “Well, are you gonna actually come in or what? You really ought to sit somewhere over there, where you can see us dancing, unless of course you plan to lurk around here for an hour or so just appreciating my ass.”  
The comment was clearly made in jest, and yet Frank couldn’t help the scorching crimson that crept up into his cheeks. Dammit, that was at least as embarrassing as the original statement had been. Thankfully, Gerard either failed to notice, or he simply deigned not to mention it, because at that moment the door was swept open with a whoosh, and Madame Charbonneau stalked in with an elegant, yet intimidating air. Gerard turned back to Frank, and excused himself with a nervous smile, before hurrying to re-join the group in the centre of the room. Frank was left to scuttle across to the other side in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner, where he proceeded to place down his satchel, and take off his hoodie to sit on. The ballet teacher didn’t comment on, nor did she seem particularly bothered by Frank’s presence, and was instead stood before her pupils as though this were a military drill. Only after the briefest of greetings did she snap her outstretched fingers at the pianist- a feeble, bespectacled shrew of a man who immediately fumbled with the music sheets, put his head down and started to plonk away- and like that, the lesson had begun.

And it was here that Frank was now sat, against one of the mirrored walls, watching the rehearsal with the enthrallment of any normal audience member, and decidedly full of respect for the dancers. A world away from what he had experienced in the preceding weeks, it was clear that Madame Charbonneau ran a very tight ship here, (and nor did she look like she had raided the wardrobe of a pantomime dame.) The sixteen dancers, of whom Gerard was one, danced with such discipline and precision that Frank found himself wondering how long it must have taken, and how hard they must have worked, in order to mimic each-others’ movements so exactly and with such finesse. Frank didn’t even think he could cook an omelette, or like, staple something with the same level of skill, let alone perform a dance routine, and was thus left somewhat in awe. Gerard, he noticed, was the only boy there, and yet he danced equally as gracefully, if not more so, than most of the other dancers. He was among the backing dancers, arranged evenly around the main girl, a pretty brunette who was doing her own routine that was even more advanced and intricate. Gerard would ordinarily conduct himself with such an air of authority that it was rather strange to see him overshadowed by another character for once. He still executed every move to near perfection and was even praised by the teacher on more than one occasion, so Frank didn’t know if he was imagining it, but Gerard’s smile seemed to have dropped and he appeared to have his eyes fixed on the main girl, regarding her with a mixture of sadness and self-conscious envy as he and the remaining ballerinas orbited her. It was puzzling to say the least.

The majority of the girls seemed to be ignoring Frank, huddled by the wall, and were in all likelihood much too focussed on their very complex dancing to question his being there. He wondered if it was normal for them to have visitors like this; there were certainly no fawning parents anywhere to be seen, which was a plus, in his opinion. Perhaps they even thought he had been invited along as Gerard’s boyfriend. He balked at his own idea and shook his head. Best to stop that train of thought exactly where it was. He didn’t even know if Gerard was into dudes in the first place, even if he secretly hoped that that was the case. Their friendship was still in its early stages; how awkward a person was he to even be thinking about dating the other boy?

He continued to gaze for the rest of the hour at Gerard and the other ballet dancers as they leaped and twirled across the room, performing everything from ‘balançoire’, to ‘grand jeté’. (Frank’s ballet vocabulary was gradually expanding, though he had no valid way to utilise the information.) It was undoubtedly a spectacle to behold. The teacher was ceaselessly demanding perfection, for the entire lesson, and Frank watched on as time and time again they would practise until there was no single fault left to find. One of the girls actually got so upset that she broke into a bout of hysterical, frustrated sobbing, much to the annoyance of the instructor, and even the other pupils, which Frank initially found quite disturbing, but as he was later assured by Gerard, displays such as these were not, by any stretch of the imagination an uncommon occurrence, and were certainly nothing to worry over.

When the lesson actually finished, (with an abrupt wave of Madame Charbonneau’s all-powerful hand,) the fifteen girls all trailed out of the studio together, as one giggling mass. The pianist scurried out after them clutching his folder of piano music to his chest and forcing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Madame Charbonneau left with a sweeping glance of the room, making eye contact with Gerard before exiting without a parting word. As soon as the door closed behind her, without missing a beat, Gerard turned to Frank eagerly.  
“So… what did you think? Better than, I dunno, watching six year olds?”  
Frank gawped at him, mouth open, and broke into laughter that echoed around the studio at the ridiculous question. “Dude, you were actually AMAZING. I didn’t even know it was possible to _be_ that good at dancing. You must practise for like, hours. Weeks, maybe.”  
Gerard snorted and then shrugged, in a nonchalant attempt at modesty. “I guess. I practise for, oh, at least two hours on most days, and have done so for as long as I can remember.”  
That was impressive, one had to admit. “Wow. That’s dedication on another level.” Frank replied.  
“Tell me about it; it was a total pain when I got sick. I didn’t really have a choice though, my parents are pretty hard to please sometimes, especially my mom. I had to grow up a dancer because she used to be one, and obviously it then became my whole life. My little brother Mikey was given a choice when I wasn’t, because I was born first.”  
Frank was a little taken aback. “That’s so not fair,” he cried, wondering what Gerard’s parents had been thinking. It wasn’t right not to give your child the freedom to choose what they wanted in life. Such was the belief that his mother had held very strongly and in turn had sort of transferred to him. He still added, “But I mean, you clearly have loads of talent anyway. I guess it must run in your family.”  
“I guess…” Gerard replied absently. Frank was still sat on the floor, and although he was sat on his thick grey hoodie, his ass had gotten kinda numb. From this angle, he also couldn’t really see what Gerard’s face was doing. He eased himself to his feet, so it was easier to talk to him. Gerard appeared to have spaced out a little, and the mournful look from earlier in the lesson had returned, and Frank still didn’t know why.  
“Hey, what’s up? You look a little moody.” Frank asked light-heartedly, in the hopes, he supposed, of coaxing a reply out of him. He hoped he wasn’t going to end up just irritating the guy. He didn’t yet know him well enough to know if he just preferred a bit of space over company when he got down, but he wanted to try and help out if he could. “Eh? Oh, nothing. I’m alright.” Gerard replied half-heartedly, and Frank stared back, entirely unconvinced.  
“Are you sure, man? You don’t seem all that good to me, and I’m here if you feel like just talking it out. I’m a good listener, you know. And if it’s a secret I swear I have absolutely nobody to tell it to anyway.” He smiled encouragingly. “So c’mon, what’s eating you?”  
Gerard looked down. “It’s not much, I… I guess I just feel a bit unworthy. Sort of like I can’t ever do things the way I’m supposed to. I mean, it’s just that my mom has always secretly wished I was born a girl.”  
Of all the things that Frank had been preparing himself to hear, he was pretty damn sure that that was not one of them. A little stunned, he said nothing, and Gerard opened up a bit more.  
“It started before I was born; there was nothing I could do, and it wasn’t really my fault she was disappointed. She desperately wanted to have a little girl that she could teach how to dance just like her. She wanted the girl to grow up a prodigious and famous dancer, someone who could make her proud, and carve a path for herself in life that was ‘lit with stage lights and littered with roses,’ and to grow up and go on to do all the things that my mom was never able to before her career ended. Mom’s a bit of a dreamer like that, but I’ve spent my life doing my best to fill that role. To live my mom’s dreams for her, and I’ve never really been able to.” He sighed. “Like, don’t get me wrong, I love dancing, I really do. I’ve just, um… I’ve always been held back by the fact that I’m a boy. People who didn’t understand it, like my school teachers and classmates, just teased me about it all the time, and even people in the profession said over and over again that I’d never be able to dance as beautifully as a girl, no matter how hard I tried.”

Frank didn’t know what to say. It had clearly been hard for Gerard, trying so hard to fill the shoes of the pretty little ballerina that Mrs Way had never even given birth to. He couldn’t believe that people would say such cruel things as that to him, especially when, though Frank’s knowledge of ballet was very limited, he was still one of the best dancers that Frank had ever seen.  
“If it helps, Gerard, I thought you danced even better than pretty much all the other girls in your class. I don’t know, or even care, what the heck everyone else sees in you, or says about it.”  
Gerard shook his head glumly. “But that’s not true, I’m not better than all of them. They’re all so graceful and delicate. I mean, did you even see Jamia dancing? She’s the prima, the lead ballerina, and she’s the best female dancer here. She’s going to be dancing the main role- you see this ballet was written by some composer who’s connected with people that work at this performing arts hall- and that’s a really lucky break if you can get it. When we perform the ballet to an audience, Jamia’s going to be the one that gets to wear the costume, and stand centre stage surrounded by backing dancers, and perform the most beautiful dance. When the audience clap and cheer at the end, it’ll be because they’re cheering for Jamia. Every single dancer ever wants to be the prima, they always have and they always will. As people are fond of saying, ‘that’s just showbiz.’ That includes me; I’m no exception. I know I’m a boy and it’s totally unrealistic but I… I just really wish I could be the prima.”  
And then he was done. Gerard just hung his head limply in shame, or defeat, or just sadness, Frank couldn’t tell, and nor did he really know how to react. He liked Gerard, and contrary to his antisocial exterior, he was actually a very empathetic ‘people person’; his instinct was to try and help people feel better. He reached out and patted the other boy’s shoulder with a tentative hand.  
“I don’t know what bullshit other people have made you believe,” he said gently, “but I wasn’t lying when I said you were a great dancer a few days ago. Hell, it was an understatement. That was out of this world, man. You deserve as much success as anyone, no matter what gender you are or what the fuck else. I mean it.”  
Gerard raised his long-lashed green gaze to meet Frank’s, a glimmer of hope resting there. “Do you actually think so?”  
Frank grinned broadly at him. “Sure I do. You have a style of dancing that’s all your own and you fucking rock at it. I don’t know how you do it. Besides, I’m not jealous of the prima at all. Isn’t her part like the most difficult one?”  
Something changed in Gerard’s face, and he no longer looked sad, but a wicked glint appeared in his eyes. “Of course it is. Are you suggesting that I couldn’t do it?” He asked, as his mouth twisted into a mischievous little smirk.  
Frank stammered something along the lines of an apology, but Gerard took no notice. He was on a mission to prove himself now. He glanced over his shoulder at the door, before whipping back round to face Frank. “I’ve got something to show you. Come on, follow me.”

Frank was just thinking about how it was lines exactly like that in movies that cranked up the sexual tension by several notches, when Gerard grabbed him by the hand and tugged him in the direction of the door, at which point his brain short-circuited and cut out entirely. Frank let himself be dragged forwards as the older boy whispered, “This way!” excitedly.  
Gerard stuck his head clear of the door and looked both left and right, and when he was confident that they had no company, continued onwards down the corridor, Frank in tow. He could hear the staccato tap as the soft leather of the soles of Gerard’s ballet slippers slapped against the linoleum flooring, but the huge, rather old building was otherwise empty, the rest of the ballet class having disappeared some time ago. He was still very conscious of Gerard’s hand holding on to and guiding his own, and he hoped his palms weren’t starting to get sweaty.

They passed room after quiet room together, and it was somewhere in between eerie and peaceful and also really awkward, because here he was, in a massive empty building with a boy he’d met a total of three times, had had an emotional pep-talk with, and incidentally happened to find very attractive indeed. Gerard kept striding on, until they came to a corridor of dressing rooms, all empty, and beyond that was a dark, labyrinthine area that Frank supposed was backstage somewhere. Gerard wove his way through, tugging Frank in his wake, and eventually led him through a door that opened, finally, onto the main stage.

Frank’s breath was immediately stolen from him by the size and grandeur of the room. It was absolutely cavernous. There were no less than three seating circles for the audience one above the other, multitudes of empty red plush seats stretching upwards and backwards, and the walls too were lined with boxes for privileged individuals or parties to sit in. The room, though currently unlit, glimmered faintly with the excessive gilt that covered every scrolling, ornate surface. Gerard left Frank’s side for a moment to go and tinker with something on the wall behind a curtain, and before Frank had a chance to ask exactly what was going on, all of a sudden the chandeliers above the stage were illuminated, the stage was bathed in brilliant white light, and he was dazzled by the gold and red leaping back at him when he stared outwards. He jumped, and looked up at Gerard who was beaming with pride.  
“Quite something, isn’t it?”  
Frank stared. “It’s _huge_ ,” he breathed. “And it’s so _empty_.”  
Gerard chuckled, and said “Have a seat at the side of the stage there, because you, Frank Iero, are going to be treated to the best view in the house, of the prima ballerina’s part, starring the lovely Gerard Way.”  
Frank did as he was instructed as Gerard positioned himself at the centre of the stage, seemingly undaunted by his own size compared to the enormous hall. It took him a few goes to concentrate, because every time he got into the starting position he would giggle. It was quite cute, Frank thought to himself.

Then something happened, and Frank involuntarily held his breath. It was incredibly hard to describe, and never would Frank fully be able to explain what it was, but Gerard just sort of… became something else. Before Frank’s eyes, he transformed, from the dorky, slightly stuck-up teenage boy, into another entirely different being. His legs and back straightened, he raised up on his toes, his face cleared and every part of him was poised and statuesque. Then he began to dance, and the room suddenly shrank to the size of a store cupboard.

He was everywhere. It was impossible to look away; he filled every space. His face and body were so expressive that it were as if something far greater than him was moving and coursing through him, contorting his limbs and body into different positions, channelling its emotions through him. He became the tragic main character; Frank could feel their joy, their love, and their heart-breaking loss, their jealousy, their rage, and their sorrow. Gerard continued to compose music and write poetry and create art with his body all at once as he glided, whirled and jumped across the stage. It was hypnotic and splendid. Frank could feel himself falling like a stone, absolutely mesmerised, for Gerard, because there was something so intimate about this performance, so open. It was like Gerard was admitting a secret to him, and it was touching and amazingly beautiful. Anyone who could witness something so stunning, and yet have the gall to tell Gerard that he was in any way inferior, was not worth the oxygen they were breathing, Frank decided. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. Who knew how long he was sat there at one side of the stage in front of the silent, empty audience. Hours, maybe- Frank didn’t know, and he didn’t care. As long as Gerard would continue to dance, Frank would continue to watch, caught in a trance, lost in the story of the ballet, the beauty of the human form in motion, all the pain that Gerard had ever felt for being made to feel insignificant, and all the joy he had ever experienced from being released like a winging dove onto the stage, where he felt happiest.


	4. Chassé (Chased)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the belated update everyone! Circumstances got in the way a bit; when it wasn't illness, it was schoolwork, yada yada. Anyway, I'm very glad to finally break out a new chapter, have fun with it xxxx

Gerard had danced like he really meant it, that strange evening when Frank had first come to his recital. He’d danced with a vigour, a passion, which he usually reserved for evening performances in front of hundreds or thousands of people, and he kept on remembering the feeling for weeks afterwards. It was like he’d needed to get something off his chest that he’d never found a way to communicate to anyone before, probably because he had had no one to actually open up to. In finally doing so, he’d felt elated and very relieved, but also quite vulnerable, and Frank, who had defied every single preconception that Gerard had had about him so far, had just sat through the whole performance transfixed, and even though Gerard was dancing _the girl's part_ , not once did he interject, question or tease him, and nor did he even appear to get bored. Gerard was certainly flattered and proud, albeit mildly confused, because by his reckoning, Frank should have tired of his company and left by now, in the same way everyone else had, but that wasn’t the case at all. Following that incident, Frank had come along to every rehearsal, and lounging at one side of the ballet studio for an hour had become just a normal thing for him to do now, before the other pupils would leave at the end, and then the two of them would stay back and just hang out. Their rather emotional encounter that one week had kick-started a friendship that had only continued to grow in strength since. It was surprising really, to all parties involved, just how much the punk and the ballet dancer had in common. Mrs Iero was apparently beginning to suspect her son had been replaced with a doppelganger, what with his sudden urge to venture out every Monday and Thursday evening; but in truth, the fact that Frank had finally found a good friend was something that she for one was not going to start complaining about.

Gerard wasn’t complaining either- Frank was a great kid, and to think how wrong Gerard had been about him at first was just staggering. Much to his dismay, he was actually beginning to find it increasingly difficult to suppress feelings for Frank, but he kept trying to remind himself daily that he couldn’t just let himself develop a wild crush on the guy. Frank had been shunned from the social circle for his sexuality in a very undignified manner; the last thing he needed was his only friend hitting on him and being really awkward. So at least twice a week, Gerard did his utmost to give absolutely nothing away. It was very hard though, given that Frank was reallllllyyyyyy good-looking, energetic and cute, and he gave Gerard all the attention he craved. On more than one occasion during the many evenings they had spent together chilling in the ballet room, Gerard had felt, and resisted, the temptation to just blurt something out, or say nothing at all and simply grab Frank by the back of the head and press their faces together. Thoughts such as these appeared with some degree of regularity, and they were usually dealt with pretty swiftly; shoved abruptly from the forefront of his mind before he got too carried away, or worse, actually attempted them, and that was unless Gerard happened to be in the shower or someplace private, in which case he could allow himself to indulge in a longer stream of consciousness. There he could let his colourful mind fabricate and fantasise about whatever imaginary scenarios it wanted, wandering to places where his hands and lips knew they would never have a right to be. Of course it was a shame that Gerard couldn’t admit his feelings to Frank, and he knew that, but he didn’t want to scare the other boy away if the sentiment was unrequited, and anyone would agree that their comfortable companionship was best left as exactly that and nothing more, however much he wished it to be so. It was just better off this way.

It was a Thursday evening, and Gerard stood before a mirror in his house as he reapplied a thin layer of eyeliner in preparation to leave. He wasn’t running late yet, so he had time. He finished the corner of his right eye, softened the line a little with his index finger, and put the cap back on the pencil, satisfied. As usual, he hadn’t gone overboard- it wasn’t even approaching the smudgy, grunge-panda look that Frank rocked, it was more just a means to enhance and bring out his features. But anyway, he definitely wasn’t fussing over his appearance just for the sake of his friend who he would be seeing for the second time that week… he was allowed to look his best anyway, right? That was what he told himself anyhow, as he shrugged on a jacket on his way out of the door and headed for the bus-stop, the bag containing his ballet clothes swinging over one shoulder.

Forty minutes later, he was already changed and in the process of warming up in the studio with the other ballerinas. Ankles, calves, quadriceps, obliques, core, shoulders and neck, followed by a run through of all five positions. He’d done it so many times before, that he barely had to concentrate at all; he could probably warm up in his sleep by now. Perhaps that was why, when Frank strolled into the room and looked over to Gerard as he took his earbuds out, Gerard was a little spaced out and his brain wasn’t fully in gear. Maybe that was why, without really thinking, he looked up and winked. His consciousness kicked in a moment too late.

He’d just winked across the room.

At Frank.

 _Fuck_.

That wasn’t good at all. He watched as Frank flushed slightly and quickly looked away while making his way over to where he usually sat, proceeding to make a great show of carefully winding up the earphones from his iPod and putting the device carefully back in his satchel. Gerard made a mental note to punch himself squarely on the nose later. Frank would know the embarrassing truth for sure now, he HAD to, and Gerard wouldn’t be able to think of a single thing to say to defend himself when they were chatting later on, after the recital. He was so completely and utterly screwed; one accidental wink had just ruined everything. He certainly didn’t think he was over-reacting either- there was a slim chance he could play it off as an innocent, playful gesture, like anyone normal would think to do, and that would decidedly be the best strategy here, but his body seemed absolutely determined to betray him and destroy his friendship, and he didn’t trust himself in the slightest now. He resolved not to mention it, unless Frank did. He really needed to get a hold of himself, goddammit.

Within seconds of Madame Charbonneau arriving, the lesson was in full swing, and Gerard still hadn’t checked Frank to gauge his reaction to the traitorous wink. Perhaps he was overthinking this. But then maybe he wasn’t. Shit. He was becoming so self-conscious that he was in very real danger of slipping up and ruining the flow of the dance, and with Madame Charbonneau in game-mode, and the performance just two skinny little weeks away; if that were to happen then Frank would be the least of his troubles- Gerard would likely be strung up from the rafters by his own entrails. That wouldn’t do at all. He just had to concentrate harder, he told himself sternly.

Conversely, that approach transpired to literally be the worst idea ever, and he cringed as he realised that the very forced, deliberate way he had to dance in order to not make a mistake actually made it look like he was posing. Gerard was a little bit of a flirt by nature, and in his heart of hearts he would have to admit to having flirted with Frank just a little in the time that they’d been friends, but this looked all wrong and he hoped that Frank wouldn’t misinterpret his actions and get weirded out. Yeah, he tried to show off in front of Frank when he danced, but that was something that always happened. Sue him, but he enjoyed being a peacock sometimes. This, on the other hand, was just not cool. And ugh, he was thinking too much again.

Gerard came to the realisation that nothing and no one had ever distracted him so entirely from his dancing ever before. He found this really quite disturbing; not just the knowledge that he’d discovered what could break his focus and his professionalism with such apparent ease, nor even was it the fact that ‘it’ just happened to be a messy high school age punk, who was dorky, funny, quirky and insecure, played guitar and surfed the internet in his room all day, and had only become his friend in the first place because he literally had nothing better to do. It was simply that said quirky dork was completely oblivious to Gerard’s highly inconvenient romantic feelings, and that without realising it, Gerard had dug himself into a huge, huge mess.

***

Frank was in a huge, huge mess. His day so far had actually been fairly average; he’d walked to school eating a pop-tart in a sleepy daze and had only arrived fifteen minutes late. It had been one of those days where you wake up thinking it’s the weekend, and following an unwelcome realisation it turns out it’s not- so he had felt betrayed and generally lousy before the day had even started. He’d then miraculously survived all six of his lessons, including sports, which he hated intensely because even the gym coach was out to get him. That was on top of his complete lack of skill and enthusiasm relating to anything that could be classed as exercise, which admittedly did not help. After school he’d had a detention to attend, which was irksome to say the least, but not out of the ordinary, and he didn’t have anywhere to be until half past five, so he couldn’t even complain of having better things to do. Still, that was beside the point. The point was, that the mess had originated from the events that followed.

To his mild embarrassment, he’d been as excited as ever to meet Gerard when he’d caught the bus across town after detention, but hey, Gerard was way better company than Frank ever got at school, regardless of the difficulty of not staring too long, touching him absent-mindedly or accidentally confessing his love etc. Yep, the usual stuff. So anyway, he’d been trying to play it cool as he walked through the door, which was ironic in the extreme because all of his plans to do so had gone straight out of the window with a lead weight attached, when Gerard had just looked up and fucking _winked_ at him. For a whole second, which felt like an age, he wondered if his heart was ever going to beat again, because it just froze limply in his chest, as his stomach jolted and his cheeks began to burn like they never had before. Gerard looked a little surprised himself; it was the last thing that Frank noticed before he came to all of a sudden and immediately fixed his gaze firmly on his sneakers and started walking. Way to act cool about it, he thought grimly as he hurried over to his spot by the wall and tried desperately not to look back at Gerard, for fear that his flustered manner would give everything away. Winking at someone was an innocent enough thing to do, Gerard clearly meant nothing by it, and even though Frank knew this, his body was making a huge deal out of the whole ordeal. Was it even possible to disown one’s own body? He sincerely hoped so, because that was only where the trouble had begun.

The excitement as he entered the room had properly keyed him up, and an agitation had lingered in him, setting him on edge, and it quickly found a very inconvenient way of manifesting itself as soon as Gerard began to dance. Oh shit. Frank didn’t know why, but today of all days he was more distracted than ever by Gerard; from the lines of his legs to his rapturous facial expressions and the way you could see his chest heaving as the black fabric clung to his figure, and he was subsequently finding it very difficult to wrest control over his wayward bodily functions. The skinny jeans he had worn that day were not helping him in any way shape or form, and he had to readjust them on a regular basis throughout the rehearsal. Goddammit, he felt like such a creep, but he couldn’t help himself, and it was almost like Gerard could sense the tone of Frank’s thoughts because he still hadn’t made eye contact with him over his shoulder. Frank found himself in the unique position of being irrationally guilty, faintly paranoid, girlishly bashful and really turned on. He came to the conclusion that experiencing such a strong cocktail of sensations wasn’t the most restful state to be in, for sure. He found himself panicking about what he was going to say to Gerard when the lesson ended, and what, for that matter, Gerard was going to say to him. What if he’d had enough of Frank lurking in a corner behaving like a pervert, and said as politely as possible to get lost? It might not even be all that polite; Frank knew very well that Gerard could stick up for himself very well if he wanted to. In honesty it was something that he envied in the older boy. For the most part, he himself tended to just put up with cruelty from other people, shutting himself away as a defence mechanism, and keeping all his anger internal. People with an attitude were really cool, Frank thought- it was why he’d first snatched up a guitar. Not people with a bad attitude though, that just sucked, and Madame Charbonneau was a good example; she had the air of a Disney villain who took delight in controlling her subjects. Frank didn’t know just how Gerard just put up with her week after week. She was shouting at everyone even now, as Frank watched. Thank god she’d never tried to speak to him, he’d probably shit himself.

Soon enough, almost too soon, the recital was ending, and as people made for the exit, Frank was suddenly overcome with anxiety. Maybe some remarkable people knew how to properly conduct themselves in situations such as these, (not that situations such as these were all that common, when he actually thought about it), but not Frank Iero. It wasn’t that he didn’t like people, he just had zero clues how to interact in an acceptable way socially. He didn’t think he was ready to face the mound of awkwardness he’d created for himself to wade through, and he wasn’t really sure what to do. He really badly wanted to talk to Gerard, but a more cowardly, and sadly, larger part of him was balking at the idea, and he was a dreadful liar too, but what choice did he have? God forgive him for what he was about to do.

“Oh, man,” he stated in a loud, what he hoped sounded disappointed tone. He was disappointed, that at least was the truth. He was disappointed in himself.  
“What is it?” Asked Gerard tentatively, as he headed across the emptying room towards Frank.  
Frank grimaced and waved his phone in front of him, as if this were a viable excuse. “My mom just texted me and says she wants me home now. Not sure what for, she hasn’t said.”  
Gerard’s face was practically unreadable, if slightly saddened. “Oh. Um, that’s a shame,” he said, and walked a little closer, but Frank leapt clumsily to his feet, clutching his bag. He didn’t want Gerard coming too near, lest his aggressive blush reappear with a vengeance, or worse still, a very obvious boner.  
“Yeah, it is, but what can you do?” He agreed, wincing. All of this was a bare-faced lie, and he hated every second of it. “She can get pretty impatient if I don’t come back when she tells me to though. I really ought to go.” His words were rushed and urgent. He wished with all his heart that he didn’t have to say them- if only he had a backbone, and some notion of how to excavate himself from this dung heap of a social disaster that had been entirely his own doing. He made to go past Gerard but at the last moment, the older boy called after him to wait.  
“Hey Frank! I know you have to… you have to go, but I was wondering, uh, seeing as you didn’t get time to hang out today, and you’ve only ever seen me at dance practice, whether you wanna, um, come to my house on Saturday?”  
That stopped him in his tracks. There Frank was, thinking that a mere wink was going to be the hardest thing to deal with today. He’d just been invited to Gerard’s house. Where Gerard lived, and slept. And he’d probably be alone. For extended periods of time. With Gerard. How on earth that could possibly end well, and why he was even considering it, he had no idea, and he knew as he opened his mouth that the wrong answer was about to come out.  
“Oh yeah, sure!” He forced a cheery smile and nodded at the offer. “Sounds great.” Yeah, because maybe he could gain a little control over his feelings for Gerard in the next two days, and it wouldn’t be a problem at all. That sounded feasible. “So, I’ll see you Saturday! Bye, Gerard.” And with a quick wave, and receiving one in return, Frank bolted out of the ballet studio. Some people have the courage to deal with their issues. Not Frank. He felt like crap, there was no denying it, but even so, he still couldn’t face the music. And by agreeing to spend Saturday in the Way household, all he’d done was exacerbate the problem that already existed. What a moron. He’d almost made it down the corridor before the doors even stopped swinging.

***

Gerard stood alone in the studio after Frank had left, watching the doors he’d dashed through on his way out. It had been a pretty sudden affair, and as much as he had been dreading having to explain himself, he was upset at the missed opportunity to chat nonetheless. The idea that Frank had simply made an excuse to go had certainly crossed his mind, but he didn’t like questioning his best friend’s reasons for leaving. Besides, he was pretty sure he knew, and he wasn’t sure he blamed him at all. He’d definitely come on too strong at the start of the class, (maybe even in the previous weeks and Frank had elected not to mention it), and now, understandably, Frank was freaking out. Why had he let a wink slip out without thinking? He’d really put his foot in it now.

But Frank had agreed to come along that weekend, right? Surely the situation couldn’t be as dire as he was making it out to be, even if Frank only felt obligated to come. Gerard wasn’t really certain why he’d made the offer in the first place; when the odds of him doing something else really stupid were alarmingly high, given Gerard’s natural tendency to flirt, and his tendency to not think hard enough before acting impulsively. He supposed it had really been to reassure himself that he hadn’t frightened Frank away for good, that he hadn’t quite ruined everything. He sighed, gave up trying to think, and went to get changed, flicking the light out as he left.

Gerard decided to walk home. He needed a little fresh air.


	5. Pas de Deux (A Dance for Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, it's been a little while since I last updated. Sorry to those of you I kept waiting; I'm afraid revision is awful, and exams are worse still. *Shrugs* what can you do?  
> Anyway, this story has been my respite through it all so far, and so I'm delighted to bring you this juicy, extra-long chapter, (hopefully the wait will have been worth it, and you'll forgive me.)  
> Have fun reading! xxx

‘Yikes’ was the first word that came to Frank’s mind. Come Saturday, he’d run through just about every possibility of what could happen when he went over to Gerard’s house. Not that he’d been- okay, so maybe he had been thinking about it practically every waking moment, fretting and fantasising by turn. Even so, he wasn't quite prepared for what he eventually found; first and foremost, he had hugely underestimated the size of the Ways’ house. Gerard’s mom, he knew, used to be a well-known dancer, so of course he hadn't been expecting some poky little shack, (and it was true that most buildings felt particularly big to someone of Frank’s stature), but this was on a whole other scale. The bright white stone façade of the building loomed over him, and to his rear was a large, manicured garden. It just served to make Frank feel even more intimidated as he stood, nerve-wracked on the porch, suddenly and irrationally afraid of the doorbell at his eye level.

It’s just a little button, he reminded himself encouragingly. And it’s your friend inside, not the president. Or even your terrifying chemistry teacher.

Frank wasn’t really sure what he was waiting for- all he did know was that this felt pretty weird, because he’d never actually seen Gerard in a non-dancing context. Also, his house was enormous, and Frank’s anxiety levels had long since broken the scale. The amount of time that he spent just deliberating on the doorstep would have been quite funny, had it not been rather pathetic. Exactly how long he would have stood there he didn't actually know, and he never found out, because it was then that he heard the soft thud of footfall behind the door as someone approached it. There was a pause, during which Frank heard the dull clunk of a lock being drawn back, and the door swung open, then Gerard was there in the doorway and Frank had no more time to indulge his nerves. He glanced up quickly and their eyes met. Gerard beamed down at him and Frank instinctively grinned back, taking in the slightly odd sight (to him anyway) of Gerard in normal clothes; black skinny jeans, a lot like the ones that he himself was wearing, and a raglan top emblazoned with the Misfits logo and an image of the Crimson Ghost.  
“Hi!” Gerard greeted Frank enthusiastically and stood aside.  
“Hey,” Frank said with a smile, despite his trepidation, and he stepped over the threshold. A slight ache in his right hand told him that he was clutching the strap of his bag too tightly, and he could feel his jarringly upright posture; a result of his uneasy shyness. He wasn’t usually the quiet type; as his long-suffering mother would almost certainly have testified, but strangely enough whenever Frank was with Gerard, he lost all power of articulation and became a nervous stuttering fool. It was most annoying, even though he tried hard to make it seem like he was cool and collected whenever he was in Gerard’s company. He took in the spacious interior of what Gerard got to call home. The door clicked shut behind him, but Frank barely noticed, he was still gawping at the huge reception room that led off into other areas of the house. It was a well lit, white, open plan room which had warm wood and stone details. It wasn’t sterile and uninviting- on the contrary, it was quite homely in fact, but it was very neat and expensive looking and Frank kinda didn't want to touch anything at all. Gerard on the other hand strolled around with impossible ease and authority. He almost seemed to be quite embarrassed that his place was practically a mansion; casually flinging Frank’s jacket in the direction of a nearby sofa and not bothering to look where it went. He seemed quite excited though, Frank noted with relief, (he felt a tiny bit better about having obsessed about this for three days solid.) He couldn't seem to decide whether to ask Frank how he’d been, etc., whether to ask him if he wanted anything, or whether to show him around.

They eventually ended up leaning against a counter in Gerard’s kitchen- Frank was, at least; Gerard was fishing a couple of glasses out of a cupboard.  
“Are you really sure you just want water, dude?” Gerard asked over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow questioningly. “You know, I could always make coffee on the machine or something- our machine is really cool by the way, just saying. It’s kind of my life force- or I guess we have different kinds of soda, or…” his eyes darted around the kitchen, scanning, and he faltered with a slight frown. He clearly spent about as much time in their kitchen as Frank did in his own, back at home, (that is to say, as little as possible) and Frank smirked. He was about to say that water was just fine, when Gerard’s face lit up and he stopped himself from speaking. He was a little worried, because Gerard eyes were gleaming in a decidedly ‘I-have-a-not-so-innocent-plan’ way.

Well, it was true; Gerard did have a not-so-innocent plan.  
“Say, do you want some booze?” He asked devilishly as his face broke into a shit-eating grin. “It’s okay, we really have loads.”  
Frank was startled, and his eyes widened in response. Of course he’d had alcohol before, and yes, he’d been pretty drunk on occasions, but his parents just didn't tend to keep much in the house and a tiny shred of his conscience was facepalming repeatedly and muttering exasperatedly that getting inebriated ten or so minutes after arriving at his best friend’s house for the first time was maybe not his brightest idea.

“But, um, won’t your family mind?” was what Frank eventually asked rather lamely, finding no real excuse to say no, and realising that a part of him was beginning to wonder if a drink might actually help him to relax a little and not act like the ‘awkward house guest’ all day.  
Gerard laughed. “My dad’s gonna be at work all day as usual,” he explained with a shrug, “and fuck knows where my mom is, but I know for sure that she won’t be back for ages.” Frank nodded and contemplated this. “…And your brother?” he inquired. It was better to ask, after all. Gerard just stared and laughed again.  
“You mean Mikey? Ha, you really don’t need to worry about him. Honestly, if he makes it home from his girlfriend’s house at all, not only would I personally be very surprised, but he’d probably just high-five me and join in. So there’s nothing to worry about whatsoever. Unless of course you later turn out to be a blubbery, emotional drunk, in which case I may have to get rid of you for the sake of the human race.”  
Now it was Frank’s turn to laugh. “Nope,” he said, but before he could say anything else, Gerard pushed him bodily to the side, in order to flip open a cabinet behind him at his hip height. He hunkered down and with a clinking of glass, began emptying its contents. Frank watched on, in awe of the impressive collection of liquor that the Ways had. Gerard was mumbling and squinting at bottles, possibly looking for something in particular, maybe just trying to work out what they all were.

It turned out to be the latter when Gerard looked back up and exclaimed cheerfully, “Hey, I know, let’s each pick three bottles with our eyes shut, mix them up, and then we have to dare the other to down it.”  
Frank giggled. There was no use saying no, and hell, it sounded like fun. Fuck it.  
“Deal,” he said, smiling widely. He and Gerard began lining up all the bottles on the counter, and another ten minutes later, Frank was holding a tumbler full of what he was told was a fusion of vodka, kirsch and sloe gin. He peered at it skeptically. It was a dilute pink colour and it didn't smell of much. In Frank’s limited experience, that usually meant that whatever it was was strong. There seemed to be quite a lot of it too, he observed; the liquid filled almost half the glass. Gerard, for his part, was staring incredulously at the murky brown concoction Frank had handed to him.

“What the heck is this crap?” He cried. Frank started snickering and turned round to check the labels on the three bottles- he hadn't really looked yet, not since opening his eyes to mix the drink.  
“Tia Maria… um, orange flavoured Cognac…” he read out slowly, “and uh, absinthe.” That did sound pretty ghastly, he had to admit. He would have been guilty, but the reaction it got from the older boy was much too hilarious.

Gerard screwed his face up in disgust and shot daggers at the grim cocktail. “I swear that if I die from this, Frank Iero, I am gonna haunt your ass so hard. And possibly sue you.” He looked over and gave Frank a mock-glare. “Well? What are you waiting for? Bottoms up. Cheers.” And with that, the two of them raised their glasses to their lips and swallowed the contents. Within the next few seconds there was a sudden cacophony of noise as the two boys began spluttering and choking, slamming their hands on the counter, and someone may or may not have squeaked, but neither really noticed who it was that made the noise. Frank swallowed hard and, wincing, looked down at the now empty glass in his hand. He wondered how he’d managed not to spit out the entire mixture; it tasted like industrial strength cleaner, and it made his throat burn. Gerard was clutching the counter for support as he hacked loudly, and his eyes were streaming. For the pair of them though, their coughs soon became laughter, and it only increased over the next few minutes as they each felt the alcohol begin to rush to their heads, and suddenly anything and everything was hilarious.

“Jesus Christ, Frank, that tasted like ass. You are going to hell for even creating that stuff. You've cursed my poor liver.” Gerard was wheezing with laughter and Frank was no better. The two of them just sat howling on the kitchen floor. It was awesome, albeit one of the weirdest situations Frank had ever been in. Right now, he was trying not to think about how very close they were seated, or how easy it would be to simply turn round and steal a kiss before either of them knew what was happening, and most importantly, how absolutely _fucking adorable_ Gerard looked when he was laughing, even more so than when he’d winked at Frank on Thursday. In a vaguely tipsy state, all three of those took some willpower to achieve.

“So, what do you wanna do now?” he asked, when the laughter subsided to a reasonable extent and he could finally speak. He glanced to his left, where Gerard was slumped against the cabinet door, giggling quietly. Gerard shrugged, appearing to rack his brains for inspiration.  
“We could watch a DVD or something,” he mused, “Oh! Do you like zombie movies?”  
“Duh, yeah!” Frank replied enthusiastically. It was no surprise really; he’d never actually grown out of his ‘playful little boy’ phase, it had just matured with him. (Not that Frank could really claim to be mature, per se.)  
Gerard gave him a knowing grin. “Dawn of the Dead?”  
“Is it the original?”  
“Of course.”  
“Let’s do it.”

***

Frank watched as Gerard knelt to put the disc in the machine, making a comment as he did so about it being a heartwarming family classic, with something for everyone, causing Frank to laugh heartily. To think he’d once believed Gerard to be rather humourless and stuck-up. Well, the stuck-up bit was admittedly true, but the point was that he had countless redeeming qualities besides that, and Frank had basically reconciled himself with the fact that he had a massive moon-sized crush on the guy, because honestly it was hard not to.  
They were now in Gerard’s really big (he was starting to sense a theme) basement bedroom, and what a house of this size even needed a basement for anyway, Frank could only imagine; yet here they were, and the lack of windows certainly explained a thing or two about the colour, or absence of colour, in Gerard’s skin, which practically glowed from lack of vitamin D. It was decked out the same as any other teenager’s room, with numerous posters and a desk piled high with textbooks. The walls were white, the floor was laminated, and someone clearly enforced a higher level of tidiness here than in Frank’s own home, because he couldn't actually remember what colour the carpet in his bedroom was- it had been buried for the last three years at least. Frank felt a bit stupid because he didn't know what he’d been expecting when Gerard had led him down the stairs; a ballet studio with a bed in it, maybe. Yet as far as he could tell, all there was in that respect were some mounted photos of Gerard during some of his past performances, looking stunning, Frank thought, though he neglected to say as much. There was a line somewhere, and that would be crossing it, he knew.  
The sound system burst to life as the title menu filled the flat-screen TV on the wall, and Gerard bounded over to join Frank on the couch, his tipsiness rendering him endearingly excitable. Frank felt the seat dip, and watched as Gerard clicked the remote to start the film while plopping down onto the other side of the couch.  
Frank suddenly came to terms with the fact that this _was_ happening, he was currently sat in touching range of Gerard, in Gerard’s actual freaking bedroom, on his couch. The movie began to play, and it took a will of iron not to lean over into the other boy’s side and rest his head on Gerard’s shoulder or something. Frank mentally reminded himself that that would not be a very platonic thing for a gay teenager to do to his slightly older and highly attractive best friend. Still, if he shuffled just an inch or so over it could hardly do any harm, could it?

***

Don’t go and make this weird.

That’s what Gerard had said to himself when he’d first spotted Frank approaching the house, at around noon, and prepared himself to answer the door to him. He’d spent three days straight worrying that Frank wouldn't even turn up that weekend, because he personally was still utterly mortified about having winked at him by mistake on Thursday. Fair enough, but if that truly was the case, then perhaps getting Frank and himself a little drunk, then cosying up on the sofa together had not been the best way to go about ‘not being weird.’ Especially since Gerard knew full well that booze made him especially flirty. God have mercy upon him.  
Except that, even as the film unfolded and the next two hours entailed George A. Romero’s sharp social commentary combined with a delightful gore-fest, Gerard found himself less involved with what was happening in the movie as he usually would be. This was one of his favourite movies of all time; he would usually be caught right up in the plot and the grisly effects and the humour and everything else, but his distracted mind kept drifting off and thinking about other things. Images of Frank’s cute, slightly shy greeting on the porch, and his scrunched up face when he and Gerard had laughed themselves stupid back there in the kitchen played through Gerard’s mind, when by all reckoning he should have been transfixed by the story on the TV. He was a little ashamed, but he’d been briefly disappointed when Frank had stated emphatically that he loved zombie movies. Sure, it made yet another thing that they had in common, and that in itself was great, but Gerard still had this niggling, guilty longing to sling an arm around Frank’s shoulder and comfort him, if Frank secretly got a little scared when the moaning corpses clamoured threateningly against the windows and feasted on unlucky civilians. It was amusing in a way, that all the kids at his old schools had thought of him as being ‘wimpy’ and submissive just because he was a ballet dancer, but in reality, the thought of Frank being the one to turn to him for comfort and Gerard being the one to provide it made him feel kind of warm inside. He fought a faint smile as he imagined such a scenario. It would be so cute. Frank might sink in to his touch a little, so that Gerard could hold him in a tighter embrace. And he would do, of course, just to let Frank know that he was there. Gerard could even rest his chin protectively on the top of Frank’s head, and they could rest there a while in unspoken understanding. Maybe Frank would tilt his face up pleadingly and tentatively, doe-eyed and gorgeous, so that Gerard could take the hint to kiss him. If he did so, then Gerard could tug Frank up easily so that he was on his lap and their chests and hips would touch. They could kiss deeper, more passionately, the film disregarded as it reeled on in the background. He wondered if Frank would make sweet little noises under his breath, or if he would start to move against him, rocking gently. He wondered if he would eagerly and insistently guide them both so that they were lying horizontally on the couch…

Gerard really, sincerely, hoped it was the liquor that was talking in his head right now, because popping a boner while some chump on the screen was literally being disemboweled by ravenous throngs of the undead was definitely not a healthy thing to do. And aside from that, none of this fantasy was going ever going to play itself out, because not only was Frank his best and only friend, he was also sat on the other side of the couch, utterly stoked about dead fuckers in a deserted shopping mall, as opposed to getting all frightened and keening for Gerard’s affection. Gerard still had to determinedly ignore how close Frank was, because otherwise he was going to do or say something really stupid, which he was prone to doing when sober, let alone after half a glass of a miscellaneous drink concocted from his parent’s sizeable stash. So, he resolutely kept himself to himself. Mostly, anyway.

***

By the time the theme tune began chiming for the final time as the credits rolled, Gerard felt like the worst of the alcohol’s effects had been and gone, which he supposed was a relief so far as impulsively hitting on Frank was concerned. He got up from the seat of the couch, stretching his arms above his head with a groan, before swinging them back down and doing a couple of skips across the room to the DVD player. He squatted in order to eject the disc from the machine, and returned it to its box, though he realised that hadn't actually focused on the movie itself for any meaningful length of time while it was playing. When he turned round, Frank was looking at him with a sort of weird, spaced out expression on his face.  
“What’s up, Iero?” he asked with a mixture of amusement and concern. “Is drinking booze and looking at guts doing weird things to you? Because if it is, then I would politely request that you pick a part of my humble abode that is NOT my bedroom to puke up in.”  
Frank seemed to snap out of it when Gerard spoke. He shook his head, and with a soft smile replied, “Nah, it’s nothing like that, man, I feel great. It’s just… well, it sounds pretty weird, but I was just thinking how cool it would be if I could do something awesome, like you do, when you dance. I just wish I was as talented as you, y’know?”  
Gerard was thrown by the comment a little, and faintly resented the way a simple compliment like that from Frank, which he was totally used to hearing from people, could make his heart do somersaults in his chest. He was absolutely done for, that much was obvious.  
“Huh. You might change your mind, if you had to practice for two hours a day.” He said lightly. “And for crying out loud, it’s not like you’re talentless. You’re damn funny, and smart, and you said you play guitar, right?” He gave an encouraging quirk of his lips. “That’s awesome. Though from what I can tell, you’re not destined for a career as a cocktail waiter or a barman.” Frank snorted in response, somewhat cheered. Gerard went pensive for a moment, then asked, “…Anyway, are you even that serious about not being able to dance?”  
Frank looked him dead in the eyes, _deadly_ serious. “School dances,” he said in a traumatised voice, “are a fucking nightmare.”  
Gerard shrugged without argument. “Fair enough.”  
“I mean, it’s just so awkward!” Frank continued, as years of bad memories surfaced. “How do you know where to put your feet, or like, any other part of your body? And the music… ugh, just no. No way. That’s what I find with normal dancing anyway. And I've never tried ballet, so I can’t say from experience, but that shit looks impossible to me.” By being a ballet dancer in the first place, Gerard was the strange one here- in his mind he knew that- so he shouldn't have been particularly surprised by what Frank said, but he was.  
“What, never?” Gerard asked, staring. “You've never even had a go at ballet?”  
“Nope, never. I’d totally suck at it.” Frank reiterated with a sense of finality. Well, he really shouldn't have. After all, how could Gerard just sit and accept that? Frank had a right to learn new things, just like everyone else did. All Gerard had to do was teach him; he was morally obligated to do so. That’s what he tried to make himself believe as he crossed confidently over to Frank and pulled him to his feet. Obviously, this wasn’t just another unwise decision made while still vaguely under the influence.

“I bet I could teach you.” He said in a tone that he hoped sounded less flirty than he thought it did.  
Frank’s hazel eyes widened with surprise. “For real?” He asked with uncertainty. “You really don’t have to. I mean, um… okay, I guess?”  
“Great!” Gerard chirped. “Well firstly, you’re gonna need a full range of movement, so you’ll have to take off your hoodie I’m afraid.” Frank cooperated and did just that, while Gerard did his best not to watch too closely. “Next,” Gerard said, his voice taking on a sly intonation, “You’re gonna have to take those pants off.” The younger boy froze as his hands hovered in place, and his cheeks coloured; he had no idea how to respond to such a request. It was adorable, and Gerard was just being mean. “I’m just fucking with you, man,” he giggled, “But you should have seen your face. Keep ‘em on for now.” He tried to duck when Frank made a swipe and swatted him round the head, which in all likelihood, he deserved.  
Gerard moved them into the large, open space in the middle of his bedroom floor, and the ‘lesson’ ensued with both of them in high spirits, occasionally breaking down into fits of laughter. It was pretty bizarre after all. Gerard started by running through all the preliminary positions with Frank, who tried surprisingly hard to get them right, paying close attention to Gerard’s instructions; and whilst he clearly wasn’t a natural, he was at least as graceful as could be expected from someone with a 5’ 6’’ frame who was a little drunk and had no prior experience whatsoever.  
Eventually though, Gerard realised he had to do something about Frank’s technique, because it was so clunky it was like teaching the tin man to dance.  
“Stop, Frank, stop there for a sec. Dude, why are you so stiff? You’re not letting yourself relax, so your style isn't flowing.” He could hear that he was letting his pretentious side come through a little, but honestly, Frank wasn’t giving him much to work with, and it just wouldn't do. “The movements you do have to be smooth and controlled. It’s like waltzing, Frank- you ever danced a waltz?”  
Frank stared back. “Uh… no.”  
“Seriously? Not even at your high school dances? We always did, when the slow songs came on.”  
“I always hide in the restroom when the others start waltzing.”  
Gerard gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh man. Well, no wonder you’re not moving right. Looks like we’re gonna have to start with the basics.”  
And without thinking, he stepped forward and gently took hold of Frank’s left hand in his own, closed his fingers around it and raised it to shoulder height while he wrapped his right arm closely around the younger boy’s torso, pulling him flush against his front. That was when realisation hit both of them, it seemed, and Gerard was suddenly aware that he could feel the warmth of Frank’s body through his clothing, that the other boy was barely breathing for the nerves, and his black-rimmed hazel eyes were avoiding his gaze. A mild, rosy blush painted his cheekbones. Distracting. Beautiful. Gerard could only hope that he wasn’t imposing himself upon Frank and scaring him away. But he stayed fast in Gerard’s hold, not pulling or seeming uncomfortable, only tense.

Gerard was the first to move his feet, guiding Frank’s backwards and then to the side, giving instructions more quietly than he had been before. Frank complied, while saying nothing in response. He appeared to be concentrating very hard, and Gerard found it quite humbling in a way to have such an obedient and keen student, (after all, there was only so much you could teach to seven year olds who squealed and tittered and never listened.) Frank actually seemed to be enjoying himself, as he seemed to recognise that he was getting gradually better, and a small smile of pride twitched at the corners of his mouth. Gerard was sort of transfixed by Frank’s lips; they were infuriatingly close to his own and they looked so tempting.  
Frank let out a quiet huff of laughter, against Gerard’s collarbones- Gerard felt it and did his utmost not to shiver at the feeling. “Dude, this is the weirdest thing I've ever done.” “Oh really?” Gerard chuckled. “Are you trying to tell me, Mr. Iero, that when you go round other people’s houses you don’t get pissed, watch a horror film and start waltzing? In that case, I simply don’t know what normal people find to do with their lives.”  
They both began sniggering, but their feet kept moving in time as if detached from their brains entirely. It wasn’t that far from the truth; neither of the boys was sober, and that added to the hilarity of the situation.

Frank’s eyes met Gerard’s for the first time since they had started dancing. “I swear to God--” Frank began, but he was cut off abruptly as one of them faltered and staggered- it was extremely difficult to tell who- and all of a sudden their ankles and legs ended up entwined and the pair of them went crashing over on to the floor, Frank’s ass hitting the ground, Gerard yanked after him. He landed heavily on top of Frank, with one of Frank’s legs on either side of him. Frank let out a muffled grunt and Gerard pulled in a sharp breath.  
“Shit, shit, _shit_ Frank, are you okay?” Gerard asked in a concerned voice, eyes instinctively scanning the other boy’s face for signs of injury, although he’d landed on his back so it didn't make much sense. Frank appeared to be in mild discomfort, but otherwise fine.  
“Oof.” Was the articulate reply that he received. “I was not expecting that.”  
“Yeah, me neither,” Gerard smiled. “We probably should have been watching where we were going.” Then suddenly his face fell, because Mary Mother of Jesus he was lying IN BETWEEN FRANK’S LEGS, leaning ON HIS CHEST, and here they were, having a FUCKING CONVERSATION. “Fuck, sorry, I’ll- I’ll just… fuck. Sorry- um…” He trailed off as he made hurriedly to extricate himself from Frank’s limbs, when their eyes met again and he promptly stopped moving. Their faces were so close now, he could feel breaths on his cheeks, see that Frank’s pupils were blown wide and dark, his gaze a little glassy. His hair had been ruffled in the fall, his lips were open the slightest amount, and not in Gerard’s whole life could he remember seeing such an arousing sight.  
They stared at one another like that for the longest second, until, like sand from an hourglass, Gerard’s self control finally timed out. With a deft dip of his head, he bent down to claim Frank’s lips with his own, and his heart thudded in joy to feel the kiss returned almost immediately. He savoured that first, blissful moment; the culmination and realisation of weeks of tension. It started sweetly and chastely, which each party exploring the taste and preferences of the other, slowly growing in assurance, until Gerard questioningly began to part Frank’s lips, and Frank relented eagerly to allow Gerard inside. Their tongues tangled deliciously, and to Gerard’s delight, Frank began moaning softly, his breaths quickening by increments.  
Gerard raised himself up just enough to release himself from the denim hug of Frank’s legs and straddle his hips instead. He felt Frank’s hardening erection against his own, through the layers of material, and a wave of pleasure caused him to swear faintly under his breath. He leant down again, and started planting kisses against the line Frank’s jaw. Frank’s eyes fluttered closed and he turned his head to the side, so that he may relish the sensation. Gerard continued, and then kissed lower, until he found where Frank’s pulse was drumming in his neck, and pressed his lips firmly against it. He gave an experimental lick with the tip of his tongue, to a strong positive reaction from Frank, whose eyes were still shut; dark eyelashes making shallow, feathery crescents on his cheekbones. Gerard began to suck at Frank’s pulse, and all the way down to the base of his neck, until Frank was writhing beneath him, his breaths heavy, and small noises of pleasure escaped him every now and again. He went back to Frank’s mouth again, and Frank sighed in relief, glad to have a distraction for his lips. Gerard grappled with the buttons of Frank’s plaid shirt, feeling a sudden surge of impatience; he wanted every last damn one out of the way so he could expose Frank’s beautiful body, and have better access to it.  
He finally dragged the shirt away from Frank’s shoulders, baring all of his skin from the waist up, and his back came into contact for the first time with the cool wooden floor. Gerard watched lustfully, raking his gaze up and down as Frank’s chest rippled with gooseflesh, before he reached forward to trace with his fingertips the lines of Frank’s collarbones, then up and over his shoulders, and down his biceps. He stroked up and down Frank’s sides, until eventually his fingers trailed across the boy’s chest, where they lingered a few moments over his nipples. Gerard traced circles around them, and then began to play around a little with the sensitive buds; tweaking and flicking them and causing Frank to twitch and jerk subtly. He continued doing this to one of them with his hand, while he bent to lap and swirl his tongue over the other, and he heard Frank exhale sharply. He started squirming impatiently beneath Gerard, and Gerard almost laughed. He started to wriggle his butt around, circling his hips so that there was more friction between them and Frank bit his lip with a moan, louder this time, and Gerard thought it was the hottest thing ever. HE was making Frank make these noises, HE was picking him apart little by little. He kissed his way down Frank’s chest, and Frank realised halfway down what Gerard was planning to do.  
“Oh,” he breathed. “Are you… should I..”  
“Shush,” Gerard said, halting Frank with a heady look from beneath his eyelashes. “Let me take care of this, Frankie.”  
Frank blushed delicately at the pet name, and allowed Gerard to take over, as he continued to move still further downwards, now sat on Frank’s legs, placing reverent kisses against the tender skin of his belly, until he reached the waistband of Frank’s pants and could see the faint trail of darker hair down his abdomen. When he mouthed over the crotch area of the jeans, breathing hotly, Frank hissed and arched his back off the ground. Perfect.  
Gerard figured he must have teased for long enough, and Frank had been so very patient and well-behaved. He undid Frank’s jeans and boxers to finally free him from the confines of the material. He was so hard, and his erection was flushed. Unattended, Gerard was reaching the point of discomfort himself; straining against the front of his jeans. He nimbly unzipped his own fly, so he could reach himself while he did this. Then he leant forward, and he started quite gently, just running the very tip of his tongue along the underside of Frank’s cock. He did it again afterwards, with a little more force, from base to tip, broadening his tongue and lingering over Frank’s slit. Frank choked back another involuntary moan, and yet another, as Gerard took him slowly into his mouth. It had been a little while and he hoped he wasn’t too out of practice; but Frank certainly wasn’t complaining, undone in a heap on the floor of Gerard’s own bedroom, so he kept going. He managed to fit most of it in before his gag reflex threatened to make an appearance, so he drew back slowly, but he didn't release; instead he started bobbing his head slightly, keeping the strokes tight and even. Somewhere above his head, Frank started to pant, dirty little breathy noises that went straight down south. As Gerard got into more of a rhythm, he was able to reach down between his legs and start to jack himself to the same tempo, trying not to lose concentration. Frank’s moans of pleasure became louder as he got closer to climax and Gerard got faster, jerking himself along at the same time. He hummed a bit around Frank’s dick, letting him feel the vibrations and Frank grunted.  
Gerard could feel Frank’s balls begin to tighten, the salty tang of precome showing that the boy was close to the edge already, and it was only at that point that he allowed himself to give the slightest graze of teeth as he ducked his head down, and that was what did it. With a strangled yelp, and something that in another dimension might have resembled Gerard’s name, Frank gave a final thrust of his hips, and he came down the older boy’s throat. Gerard swallowed diligently, just as Frank’s orgasm brought about the onset of his own; and with a muffled groan, he screwed his eyes shut and spilled over his own fingers, the intensity making it go a little white behind his eyelids. He rode out the aftershocks, and then pulled off Frank’s now soft cock with a wet noise, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, before reaching for a couple of tissues. When they were cleaned up, and Gerard had tucked them both away, he lay down beside Frank, who looked totally wrecked and blissed out.

“You’re a shitty dancer,” He announced somewhat incoherently, after a couple of minutes of companionable silence, “But it sure was fun being your ballet coach.”

They fell asleep in each other’s arms on the floor.


	6. Brisé (Broken)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I betcha thought I'd given up on this, right? You were hella wrong! I'll admit that I got into a bit of a creative rut after my GCSEs started, but I promise I'm going to see this baby through until the end, and now I've pretty much got my mojo back, I thought I'd bring a gleaming new chapter to prove it. I would caution you that it came out a little angstier than expected, but please don't let that dissuade you from reading it, because I promise that the angst will be healed with fluff in no time <3

The first ten seconds after Frank woke up were heavenly. After opening his eyes blearily, he spent them staring at Gerard’s serene, sleeping face just a few inches away from his own. His brow was furrowed the tiniest amount as if he were concentrating, but the rest of his face was completely slack, his mouth even hanging open a little. It was really cute- Frank could have watched for hours. He could barely believe that the memories floating around in his head weren’t part of a particularly good dream, but here they were; the pair of them curled up together like dozing cats at whatever time in the evening it was now. Frank reckoned they’d been out cold for two or three hours, but with no source of natural light in the room, he couldn’t be sure. He made to scan the vicinity for a clock, and that’s when he looked up, startled, to see a rail-thin, bespectacled boy looming over them with a camera. Needless to say, that ruined the moment somewhat.

 _Click_.

“What the FU--”  
“Shh.” The intruder, who he presumed to be Mikey, silenced him quickly by holding a bony finger aloft. “Please don’t mind me, I’m just here gathering some photographic material to use as blackmail in the future.” He spoke unnervingly calmly, as if taking pictures of your sleeping brother and his… boyfriend? (Is that what Frank was now? He hoped so), was a perfectly normal thing to do. However, before he could ask the psychopathic geek any questions or give him a piece of his mind, the guy was hot-footing it up the basement steps at superhuman speed, leaving Frank to glare after him in agitation.  
Gerard began stirring next to him on the floor at about the same time, and Frank allowed him a few moments to wake himself up in peace before he announced that they’d had a visitor. And that said visitor now possessed evidence in the form of photos of the two of them fast asleep.  
“That bastard.” Gerard growled, and immediately leapt to his feet. He turned to Frank, who was still propped up on his elbows. “You know, sometimes I love him to death, and at times like this I’d love if he WAS dead.”

Curses were uttered, there was a long chase around the large house, even worse curses were shouted, and fifteen minutes later, Gerard was practically steaming and Mikey was mourning, cradling an armful of shattered plastic to his chest.  
“The window, Gerard? Why did it have to be the WINDOW?” Mikey lamented loudly. “It was such an undignified way for it to go.”  
“Oh, shut up, you know Mom and Dad will buy you another one.” Gerard grumbled back, before shooting an apologetic look with a huff of exasperated laughter at Frank, who was staying out of this melee as best he could. Hurling Mikey’s camera out of an upstairs window had certainly not been his idea. Having gotten over his initial disbelief upon waking up, Frank actually found the whole situation rather funny, but he wisely chose not to mention it or get involved.  
Mikey got over the loss of his camera fairly soon after that. What Frank was surprised about was how quickly Mikey appeared to have gotten over _him_. They’d never met before, Mikey had not long since discovered him being spooned by Gerard and yet he was acting so cool about the whole affair that it was almost creepy. That said, Mikey’s manner in general was eerily calm; it was like the guy had literally overdosed on chill pills.  
Frank on the other hand wasn’t at all ‘over it.’ He kept glancing over at Gerard and feeling a little jump in his chest when he remembered that everything he had wanted to happen had actually really truly happened.

That’s how he continued to feel for the rest of the weekend, even after he’d come home from Gerard’s. His mum didn’t even ask what had happened when he floated through the front door, unable to keep a grin from his face. Chances were, she’d already figured out that something was going on with him and Gerard; Linda had always had been intimidatingly perceptive, to the point of being telepathic. All the same, what his mom did and didn’t know was the last thing on his mind. He couldn’t sleep for quite some time, instead he just lay, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling and feeling stupidly elated. Was Gerard feeling anything like this, lying in his own bed? Frank hoped so.

By the time Monday came around, Frank had spent so long thinking about Saturday’s events that he was almost worried that Gerard would have changed his mind, or wouldn’t be as enthusiastic as Frank had remembered.  
In the end, that was not the case at all. When Frank arrived at Gerard’s ballet class, the two boys smiled coyly and with pink cheeks at each other from opposite ends of the room for what felt like minutes, but in reality could only have been about thirty seconds. Neither really knew how to breach the subject at first, each of them suddenly remembering their encounter with clarity, but eventually they just ended up giggling and exchanging a tiny peck when they deemed the other occupants of the room to be sufficiently otherwise engaged.

***

When Frank had taken his place in the corner of the studio, Gerard made his way to the rest of the group. He was beginning to feel self-conscious like he never had before, and he couldn’t tell if the sensation was exciting or unsettling. It was like Frank’s eyes were burning holes in him, though Gerard had his back turned. It made him feel electric and jittery, and yet he found himself unable to concentrate on the very important task at hand; dancing like the professional he’d always been and not fucking up under any circumstances. After all, he’d been pushing his luck a little in the last lesson when the sexual tension had been ramped up to 11 and his mind kept straying. God help him, this was their last recital; the performance itself was next week. At this rate he was going to lose his position as a backing dancer, what with Frank sitting in the corner looking like… edible… sex. Gerard cursed himself. What the hell was his brain doing? He couldn’t remember his once very strong and capable mind becoming marshmallow fluff, but nonetheless it quite clearly had, and in his current circumstances he could see no possible way back. That should have been regrettable, but the most deadly thing about this unfortunate marshmallow fluff invasion was that Gerard welcomed it with open arms.

He and the other backing dancers took their places around Jamia, the piano jerked to life, and after somehow executing all the moves in approximately the first third of the dance to a decent standard, he risked a look behind him to where Frank was sitting, still staring intently (at his backside? Gerard wasn’t sure, but it amused him to think so. He gave it a discreet wiggle, just in case.)  
When they made eye contact Frank grinned and made a goofy face, crossing his eyes, tugging his ears outwards and poking out his tongue. In a dumb, childish way it was super cute but god knows it wasn’t sexy, so Gerard had no idea why his face heated up the tiniest amount. He supposed it was just the fact that they were this now; it was okay for them to do things like this because all of a sudden everything he’d dreamt about before was real, and he was slowly allowing himself to realise that. It was almost the same as before, except there was no guilt, and no holding back. It was utterly dreamy.  
The next time he looked back, Frank was doing the widest leer he could manage, showing every one of his teeth, almost manic, and he had turned up the end of his nose with a finger to make it into a sort of piggy snout. What a goober. Gerard sniggered at the lovable dork in the corner of the hall, before sharply inhaling as he felt his feet shift a bit out of their correct position.  
To the untrained eye it was a totally inconsequential movement, practically undetectable, but it was enough to shatter Gerard’s confidence, and he struggled to regain the smooth flow of his dancing. His eyes met Frank’s one last time, but this time they hinted at his panic. Frank seemed to notice this, as his smile faltered and he suddenly looked concerned.

One miniscule error, that’s all he had made, but when one danced at the standard that Gerard did, it was one error too many, and it broke his calm. In his haste to right himself, his feet clashed again and he lurched to the side, attracting the attention of Madame Charbonneau, and her unforgiving gaze zeroed in on him. Her beady eyes bore into his and his heart began to pound painfully. His anxiety rocketed and the world shrank to the size of a nutshell around him, asphyxiating him. He couldn't do this. In his mind the orders were imperative. He had to be perfect like a doll, he had to be strong like a man, he had to be graceful like a girl, and he was failing. He was surrounded by beautiful, delicate ballerinas, staying in time and looking the part. He was the fly in the ointment. He felt sick. Failure wasn't allowed, and he was going to let everybody down. Rising from vague whispers on the frayed edges of his subconscious mind to a ghastly crescendo came the cruel taunts and jeers of everyone he'd ever met; they mocked and belittled him, told him that he was nothing. Always second best, always trying to catch up. He'd never be beautiful, and he'd never be the little prima ballerina that his mother had tried to hard to raise. As Gerard's mind churned, his body gave in. The line of dancers fell out of sequence, and Gerard staggered into Peyton as he finally lost his balance completely, landing almost entirely on top of her. He let out a yelp and she squeaked as she was taken down with him. The red-haired girl flailed frantically, trying to make a grab for something.  
As if fate hadn’t dealt them enough bad luck already, (and was in fact starting to rather enjoy itself), Peyton managed to swipe at one of Jamia’s legs as she prepared for a grand jeté, and the horrifyingly unlucky chain of events continued. Gerard watched helplessly as time seemed to slow down and yet he could not do a thing to prevent the outcome of the disaster. Jamia was unable to get enough lift as she went into the jump, and could not correct herself in midair, so that when she landed, her foot was not straight but twisted to the side, and as she went crashing to the laminated floor, a sickly crunch could be heard.  
Gerard stared in horror, his blood turning to ice in his veins as Jamia’s beautiful face contorted in agony. She let out a long, piercing howl, and Peyton began to sob hysterically as she went into shock. A few of the other girls started to cry and none of them seemed sure of what to do; but their noise barely registered in Gerard’s ears as he sat frozen to the spot on the ground where he had fallen. Unwavering, but more grim-faced than ever, Madame Charbonneau drew up to her full height and in a careful but businesslike way, looked Jamia over before marching her out of the doors, snapping her fingers behind her at the cowering pianist who had long since stopped playing, prompting him to fumble for a phone.  
Gradually, in ones and twos, the other girls uncertainly followed the ballet instructor and the wounded prima down the corridor. The recital could clearly not resume in the wake of this dreadful mishap, there was nothing else to be done.  
Gerard slowly picked himself up, guilt and shame already beginning to well up inside him. He looked to the corner of the room, to see that Frank had left at some point during the aftermath and he hadn’t even noticed that he was now alone in the ballet studio. Perhaps that was just as well; Gerard didn’t want to have to explain his own failure and stupidity to anybody right now. How had he allowed this to happen?

Feeling slightly detached, and unbelievably bitter, Gerard unlaced his ballet pumps, removed them and put them in his bag.

***

Frank had watched the sequence of misfortune unfold as if it were a scene in a play and he was a useless spectator. It had all happened in slow motion, and dread had begun to gather ominously in the pit of his stomach like solid lead long before Jamia had actually hit the deck and everything was driven home. It had started when Gerard had met his gaze and his eyes had not been twinkling with mirth, but wide with scarcely concealed fear. Following the collision, Frank had sat barely breathing for at least a minute while Madame Charbonneau inspected Jamia’s injury and the other dancers panicked. Gerard had been slumped on the floor in a trance; Frank didn’t even want to know what he’d been thinking. He’d considered staying to comfort him, but rather pathetically, he had suddenly felt partially responsible and wholly out of place, so he’d thought it best to take his leave before he could exacerbate the situation in any way.  
To be honest though, he viewed the whole debacle as a huge accident; he certainly didn’t hold Gerard responsible, and didn’t believe Gerard would accuse him either. Frank knew the other boy well, and knowing Gerard, who could be very critical of himself and also somewhat cynical, he was probably blaming everything upon his own actions and replaying the event in his mind; burdening himself with guilt and repeatedly thinking of what he could, and should, have done differently.  
Frank thought that, for someone who had a reputation for being something of a diva, and who outwardly exuded confidence to the point of appearing quite haughty, Gerard had a remarkably fragile self-image. It made Frank sad sometimes, that someone who shone so brightly had no idea just how talented they were, or even how wonderful a person.

Frank resolved then in that moment, that whatever happened, whenever he was needed to, he would do anything necessary to show Gerard how beautiful and worthy he really was.

***

Frank lay awake, his phone next to his head, but he heard nothing from Gerard that night.

***

In fact, Frank heard nothing from Gerard for the rest of the week.

He had decided, after the first two days of Gerard’s silence, that he would not push him to talk; he merely hoped that Gerard would make contact of his own volition at some point.  
In the end, he never did so, and though Frank would have like to have accredited that to forgetfulness or even just being busy, he knew that it was due to what happened in Monday’s ballet class. Gerard clearly had let himself get down about the whole thing and was likely getting trapped in his own head.

With that in mind, what Frank was doing right now on the evening of the performance made no sense at all, but he could finally keep himself away no longer, and as he gazed out of the window of the bus, seeing the streets and hedgerows scrolling past, he found himself getting excited about seeing Gerard again despite himself. Truth be told, if he turned up as the pre-performance preparations were underway and Gerard was either not present or not wanting of his help, he was going to look like a right fool, but he had come to the conclusion that he didn’t care. He had solemnly promised himself that he would be there for his boyfriend. In fact, Gerard was more than a lover to him, he was his best and only friend, and if Gerard was currently having a crisis of conscience and Frank needed to stroke some ego or boost the shit out of some confidence, you could bet your ass he’d do it.

Upon arrival, Frank regarded the building thoughtfully. Its bricks were bathed in a golden light as late afternoon became early evening. There was almost a buzz in the air; maybe everyone could feel it or, perhaps it was just him. Regardless, he knew something was going to happen.

“The show must go on.” He murmured, and pushed open the doors.


End file.
